The Ambassador's Son RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

piosenniel · 10-23-2003, 08:43 PM

Arvedui III's post

As the creak of the deck of the Miranel swayed and finally stopped, a shaky, stooped, figure clutching dearly to the port railing had finally decided on one thing: He hated ships. And oceans. He hated oceans too, which was two things, really, but he supposed that was irreverent. The cargo vessel lurched horribly as it dropped anchor into what looked like lurid, black, and, there was no other word for it, chunky water; The mingled smell of dead fish and alcohol was near palpable in the humid, windless night, and the stars seemed to glare at him rather than twinkle. As he stepped unto the warf, it creaked ominously under him.

Telson Telemarson's first impression of the isle of Umbar was not a kind one.

He rubbed the stiff parchment tucked rather haphazardly into his belt with one sweaty palm and somehow felt comforted by its presence. Standing nervously on the warf, the figure dressed in a tattered, brown, now wet cloak shifted his weight several times before a equally ratty looking seaman tossed him a rough haversack from the ship. "Such care," he muttered under his breath and without waiting for a word from anyone set his bag on his back and started walking as quickly as he could away from the port. The street he found himself traveling on was lit with sickly yellow street lamps, and the uneven cobblestone road looked like rough obsidian in the dim light. The path seemed devoid of people, although the dull sounds of drunkards and dullards babbling in distant alleyways mixed eerily with the squeaky signs hung above various shops and smithies.

If Telson had known what part of Umbar he had entered, he might have gladly traded the five minutes he had spent walking for another five days onboard ship.

Eventually, an overtly noisy sign in the shape of a tankard caught his attention and he squinted up to the figure which read, "Low Tide Inn: Hearty Food and Spirits". With a sigh he muttered, "Charming, I'm sure," And pulled the handle. The pub was lively enough. Unlike the street outside it was well lit and warm, and full of noise. About ten men were drinking and laughing at different tables, with another three at the bar. The place itself was shabby, with pealing, stained walls and a floor seemed to tilt in some places. The wood of the tables was gnarled and rotting, but, he noted that the shelf holding rum behind the bar was elegant and smooth, finished with a fine veneer.

Chuckling softly, Telson set himself comfortably into a lopsided seat and licked his lips. If the low tide inn did indeed serve hearty food and spirits, he intented to sample some. A ruddy bartender with a wholly unnecessary number of tatoos on his face came over and smiled broadly at him. "What can I do fer yeh, good sir?" He asked in a raspy voice. "A room, and a brew if you have both." The man chuckled. "Aye sir. I have both if your coin's good." Nodding, Telson plunged a hand into his shirt pocket and produced two silver coins stamped with the likeness of the king on one side and the white tree on the other. The bartender gave a low whistle.

"Those'll do jus' fine, sir." He said, briskly sweeping them off the counter. Drawing himself up, he added, " What'll it be?" "Whatever's a bargain." Telson shrugged. He was not in the mood for expensive ale tonight. That only lead to trouble. After about five minutes the bartender returned with a frothy mug in hand. " ‘Ere, mayhap that'll redden your checks a bit." Telson smiled self-consciously, remembering that his pallid face was not a regular at this bar. ‘I doubt that, meaning no offense to your ale, good sir." The bartender nodded sagely. "Course, sir. Er, beggin' your pardon, sir, but, you ain't from round ‘ere, are yeh?"

"Is it that obvious?" Telson responded with a sigh and a smile. "No. Well, yes. Well, well it's just that not many a man with a fair face comes round the low district, much less buys whatever's cheap, if you take my meaning, sir." The bartender bumbled and grinned apologetically. Telson only laughed. "Guess I should of known better. No, I'm not from around here." The bartender nodded and then bit his lip. "Er, if you don't mind me askin', sir, who are you?" Telson looked and the bartender slowly, appraising what type of answer he should give. "Oh, nobody, really. Just another lowly, lazy, ne'er do well trying to make a way in the world." He shrugged and laughed. The bartender joined in. "Well, you'll fit in quite nicely here, then. What're yeh tryin' ta do in Umbar, Mr. Nair do well?"

Telson again let a silence stretch out before answering. He supposed it could do no harm, after all, he'd need all the help he could get, and making a few friends, a few friends with knowledge of the island, would be invaluable. So he answered,

"Oh, I count things." "Count things?" The bartender echoed, confused. "Yep. Ships, arms, men, wood, stone, things like that." The bartender still looked confused "Why and who in middle-earth would pay yeh to do that?" "That's the steward's business, not mine." He answered and took a slip of his mug. The old barkeep's eyes near doubled in size. "You're a steward's man?" He asked incredulously. "Sure." Telson replied offhandedly, enjoying the bartender's reaction. "Got a note to see the ambassador about my business, too." He added for the effect. The reaction wasn't quite what he expected. The man snorted.

"You aren't from ‘round ‘ere. That ambassador, Thrann? E's worthless, to be shure. Now lord Doran, e's a good man, so he is, why if I has a coin fer every man e's helped on this isle, why," Sensing a rant on politics that he did not, nor wanted to understand, Telson interrupted the man with an overly loud cough. It was too late for this, he'd deal with whatever Umbar had to bring in the morning.

"About that room, sir?"

10-23-2003, 08:43 PM	#10
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Arvedui III's post As the creak of the deck of the Miranel swayed and finally stopped, a shaky, stooped, figure clutching dearly to the port railing had finally decided on one thing: He hated ships. And oceans. He hated oceans too, which was two things, really, but he supposed that was irreverent. The cargo vessel lurched horribly as it dropped anchor into what looked like lurid, black, and, there was no other word for it, chunky water; The mingled smell of dead fish and alcohol was near palpable in the humid, windless night, and the stars seemed to glare at him rather than twinkle. As he stepped unto the warf, it creaked ominously under him. Telson Telemarson's first impression of the isle of Umbar was not a kind one. He rubbed the stiff parchment tucked rather haphazardly into his belt with one sweaty palm and somehow felt comforted by its presence. Standing nervously on the warf, the figure dressed in a tattered, brown, now wet cloak shifted his weight several times before a equally ratty looking seaman tossed him a rough haversack from the ship. "Such care," he muttered under his breath and without waiting for a word from anyone set his bag on his back and started walking as quickly as he could away from the port. The street he found himself traveling on was lit with sickly yellow street lamps, and the uneven cobblestone road looked like rough obsidian in the dim light. The path seemed devoid of people, although the dull sounds of drunkards and dullards babbling in distant alleyways mixed eerily with the squeaky signs hung above various shops and smithies. If Telson had known what part of Umbar he had entered, he might have gladly traded the five minutes he had spent walking for another five days onboard ship. Eventually, an overtly noisy sign in the shape of a tankard caught his attention and he squinted up to the figure which read, "Low Tide Inn: Hearty Food and Spirits". With a sigh he muttered, "Charming, I'm sure," And pulled the handle. The pub was lively enough. Unlike the street outside it was well lit and warm, and full of noise. About ten men were drinking and laughing at different tables, with another three at the bar. The place itself was shabby, with pealing, stained walls and a floor seemed to tilt in some places. The wood of the tables was gnarled and rotting, but, he noted that the shelf holding rum behind the bar was elegant and smooth, finished with a fine veneer. Chuckling softly, Telson set himself comfortably into a lopsided seat and licked his lips. If the low tide inn did indeed serve hearty food and spirits, he intented to sample some. A ruddy bartender with a wholly unnecessary number of tatoos on his face came over and smiled broadly at him. "What can I do fer yeh, good sir?" He asked in a raspy voice. "A room, and a brew if you have both." The man chuckled. "Aye sir. I have both if your coin's good." Nodding, Telson plunged a hand into his shirt pocket and produced two silver coins stamped with the likeness of the king on one side and the white tree on the other. The bartender gave a low whistle. "Those'll do jus' fine, sir." He said, briskly sweeping them off the counter. Drawing himself up, he added, " What'll it be?" "Whatever's a bargain." Telson shrugged. He was not in the mood for expensive ale tonight. That only lead to trouble. After about five minutes the bartender returned with a frothy mug in hand. " ‘Ere, mayhap that'll redden your checks a bit." Telson smiled self-consciously, remembering that his pallid face was not a regular at this bar. ‘I doubt that, meaning no offense to your ale, good sir." The bartender nodded sagely. "Course, sir. Er, beggin' your pardon, sir, but, you ain't from round ‘ere, are yeh?" "Is it that obvious?" Telson responded with a sigh and a smile. "No. Well, yes. Well, well it's just that not many a man with a fair face comes round the low district, much less buys whatever's cheap, if you take my meaning, sir." The bartender bumbled and grinned apologetically. Telson only laughed. "Guess I should of known better. No, I'm not from around here." The bartender nodded and then bit his lip. "Er, if you don't mind me askin', sir, who are you?" Telson looked and the bartender slowly, appraising what type of answer he should give. "Oh, nobody, really. Just another lowly, lazy, ne'er do well trying to make a way in the world." He shrugged and laughed. The bartender joined in. "Well, you'll fit in quite nicely here, then. What're yeh tryin' ta do in Umbar, Mr. Nair do well?" Telson again let a silence stretch out before answering. He supposed it could do no harm, after all, he'd need all the help he could get, and making a few friends, a few friends with knowledge of the island, would be invaluable. So he answered, "Oh, I count things." "Count things?" The bartender echoed, confused. "Yep. Ships, arms, men, wood, stone, things like that." The bartender still looked confused "Why and who in middle-earth would pay yeh to do that?" "That's the steward's business, not mine." He answered and took a slip of his mug. The old barkeep's eyes near doubled in size. "You're a steward's man?" He asked incredulously. "Sure." Telson replied offhandedly, enjoying the bartender's reaction. "Got a note to see the ambassador about my business, too." He added for the effect. The reaction wasn't quite what he expected. The man snorted. "You aren't from ‘round ‘ere. That ambassador, Thrann? E's worthless, to be shure. Now lord Doran, e's a good man, so he is, why if I has a coin fer every man e's helped on this isle, why," Sensing a rant on politics that he did not, nor wanted to understand, Telson interrupted the man with an overly loud cough. It was too late for this, he'd deal with whatever Umbar had to bring in the morning. "About that room, sir?" __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.